


Heaven and Hell

by RoyaiFan101



Series: Not every fairytale has a happily ever after, but maybe this one does [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Brief mentions of child abuse, Child Loss, F/M, Premature Labor, Royai - Freeform, Teen Pregnancy, This Is Sad, hidden pregnancy, points for me for coming up with a title longer then one word, this story can probably be considered one big trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyaiFan101/pseuds/RoyaiFan101
Summary: She can still recall the warmth she felt when he spilled himself inside of her, moaning softly against her neck as her walls clenched him. Four months later, that warm and wet feeling he left inside of her has been replaced by soft flutters and barely there kicks in her womb.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Not every fairytale has a happily ever after, but maybe this one does [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711030
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I have no idea where this... story came from. So I decided to write it. 
> 
> It’s very sad, so fair warning. 
> 
> I didn’t want to include it in my Victory series or in my Betrothal story, so it is its own story. 
> 
> There won’t be a sequel, just this.

Riza remembered the night before Roy left for the Academy, how she kissed him in the parlor while her Father snored away upstairs. Let him push his hand up her nightgown as she pulled him on top of her on the couch, her own hands snaking up under his shirt, clawing lightly at his back.

She had let him _inside_ of her- it _had_ hurt, but only for a _moment_.

Neither of them lasted very long, not that she was keeping time. Riza remembers wrapping her calves tightly around his waist and back, gasping softly as he moved in and out of her. She can still recall the warmth she felt when he spilled himself inside of her, moaning softly against her neck as her walls clenched him.

Four months later, that warm and wet feeling he left inside of her has been replaced by soft flutters and barely there kicks in her womb.

Of course Roy didn’t know. He hadn’t written her a single letter, and her Father had tossed the card he had given to her, holding his contact info while he was in Basic Training in the fireplace within an hour of him leaving.

Thankfully her Father _didn’t_ know about the grandchild his _disavowed apprentice_ had pumped into his fifteen year old daughter. Though if he did know, he hadn’t mentioned it.

She is so terrified of this. She doesn’t want this- _not now_. She isn’t ready to be a Mother, she’s still in school, barely a teenager, and _unmarried_. She _can’t_ have a baby in _this_ house.

Riza is _scared_ and _alone_ and wants to die.

* * *

She calculates that she’s in the early days of her fifth month when her Father leaves to get research notes and supplies in West City, telling her he’ll be gone roughly two weeks, and that their house had better be _spotless_ by the time he gets back, or else there will be hell to pay.

Ha! Like her life could get any worse at this point..

It’s winter time, and her bulky sweaters have been so far able to hide her growing stomach, concealing the life she wishes hadn’t been created. Riza wishes that she was further along, because she knows she’ll be due in early spring, and won’t be able to hide it from her Father by then.

She wishes she could talk to Roy. He would know what to do. He would know more then she does.

She waves goodbye to her Father, locks the door behind him, and for the first time since she realized she was with child, sinks to the floor and cries.

* * *

She’s sweeping the floors five days later when a sharp pain knocks the wind out of her. At first she thinks it’s a harder then normal kick, a sign the little one inside of her is _growing_.

The second sharp pain followed by the water soaking her wool stockings tells her that she is wrong. That something is very wrong. Letting the broom fall from her grasp and to the floor, she struggles to climb the stairs to the bathroom.

She knows enough about pregnancy to know that she in labor, and with childbirth there’s _always_ a mess, and a mess like this is easier to clean in the bathtub.

 _It’s too early_. Too too too early. Riza knows her baby _isn’t_ ready. She knows that they won’t survive long out of her body, assuming they’re even born alive.

She pushes her wool stockings, black knee length skirt, and underwear down to the floor, stepping out of them as she climbs into the porcelain tub. Her turtleneck sweater is a light pink color, so it’s quickly removed and tossed aside as well. Riza is left in only a white camisole she doesn’t care about and an old cotton bra as another pain, a _contraction_ as she now knows that she’s in labor and that she’s _losing her baby_ , rips through her lower body.

She folds her arms across the edge of the claw foot tub, resting her forehead on hers arms as she cries out in agony, tears spilling out as she goes through the worst moment of her life _alone_.

She wants her Mother. She wants Roy. But her Mother has been _dead_ since she was six and Roy has been _gone_ for five months.

The pain only lasts what seems like an hour, before she feels a tiny form slip out between her legs, and she’s barely able to catch it in time.

Her child is _small_ , barely the length of a banana. While her baby does breath, no loud wails or cries escape passed their lips. While show their Mother that they have life inside of them, they give her no sign that they even want to live.

Riza holds her tiny baby gently against her breast, one hand supporting the tiny head while the other supported their rear end, mumbling softly how _sorry_ she was how, how she wishes that they had entered this world in better and happier circumstances, and despite not showing it while they were growing inside of her, that she _loves them so much_ , more then anyone in the world, and that if their Daddy knew about them that he would love them too.

* * *

Her son- _her and Roy’s son_ \- lives for ten minutes.

Riza is surprised her survived as long as he did, given how small he is. It’s only after he’s stopped breathing and began to grow cold, that she studies his features.

She can see so much of Roy in his features. He’s tiny, but she recognizes his Father’s chin and chubby cheeks. His nose is hers, and she’s too scared to touch his face to see who’s eyes he inherited.

He doesn’t have a head of dark hair. He barely has any hair. And Riza is curious if that means he would’ve been blonde like her, or if he never had a chance to grow any hair at all.

An hour after his death, the after birth leaves her body, and Riza finally has the strength to stand up, her weak arms holding the edge of the tub as she leaves her lifeless son in the tub, still attached to the placenta.

Once her feet have hit the floor, she staggers to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the first aid kit and the scissors inside of them. She grabs the scissors and an old worn out towel, walking back to the tub to cut the cord and wrap her baby in the towel.

When the cord has been severed, she swaddles her son in the old towel, cuddling him to her chest once more.

* * *

Two hours after she’s able to stand again, she gets herself dressed in a pair of black baggy sleep pants Roy had given her two years ago when she out grew them, and a dark baggy T-shirt, as she wonders about the house for a box to bury her baby in.

She finds success in an old shoe box buried in the back of her closet. It’s not anything fancy, and it isn’t very sturdy, but it’s the only thing she can find that her Father won’t notice is missing.

And it’s better than just placing her son in dirt, nothing to protect his body from the harsh elements.

* * *

She takes the shovel from the shed and digs a small grave ten yards past where she is no longer able to see the backside of her home.

Riza digs a small grave, roughly five feet deep and two feet wide. It takes all her strength and energy to do so, and she has to stop several times to take breaks before the task is complete.

She tosses in her after birth, wrapped up in a small garbage bag first, followed by the towels she used to clean up the mess her giving birth- _miscarrying_?- had made.

Then she opens the shoe box, gives her lifeless baby boy a single kiss on the forehead goodbye, and gently places him inside his grave, before burying him in the ground and the past beneath the dark and cold soil.

Riza sobs as she stumbles home and climbs into bed.

* * *

She names him _Jackson David Hawkeye_.

Not that it really matters. She’ll never call him by his name, will never refer to his existence out loud.

She didn’t feel right, mentally referring to his surname as Mustang. It wasn’t right, giving Roy’s last name to the dead child he didn’t know he had helped create with his Master’s daughter.

Riza is just glad the majority of the bleeding has stopped by the time her Father returns to their home.

He dislocates her wrist because she hadn’t made the home spotless in his absence, but that isn’t the worst punishment he gives her.

No, that happens when he drags her by her short hair to his study, and forces her to remove her sweater, carving his life’s work into the bare skin of her back.

 _Maybe this is why God made me lose my baby boy? Why he took him to be in Heaven. Because he knew this would happen, and wanted to spare him from this awful pain_. Riza thought, fighting back a scream of pain. _I hope when Father dies, he goes to Hell. He doesn’t deserve to lay eyes on my innocent little Jackson_.

A tattoo hurt much worse then child birth.


End file.
